


Remember

by IsThereARealLife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester Anniversary, Demon Dean, Hell, M/M, Season 9 Spoilers, Violence, alternate season 10, anniversary fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsThereARealLife/pseuds/IsThereARealLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raise him from hell. They weren't your orders but you did. You could never have anticipated the consequences. Not in all your millenia of existence would you have imagined what this one man would do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I.

You wade through the masses of demons. Swathes of them. Screeching, howling, guttural cursing. The thundering of heavenly wrath engulfs you. There in the darkness, close by, a glimmer of light. You approach carefully, torturers and the tortured still linger, a hindrance. All your siblings are engaged, even Michael himself, still in the centre of the carnage. It must be soon. Too few against too many. You are close enough. You can. _Castiel no! He is mine!_ The light flickers. There is no time. You launch yourself closer, the dark tendrils around his soul flee and your goal in all its glory is revealed. But it is nothing like you were told. Strong, yes, broken, yes. But beautiful. So inherently good even now. They forgot to mention that. Light in the darkness. Hope. What would be your arm in the earthly plane extends. _Castiel stop!_ But you continue. There is no time, you reply. He flinches back from you, holding out bloodstained hands before his rotting form as though it would keep you away. _Please, no,_ he whispers. The moment your hand touches his shoulder you spread your wings and leave. He struggles and you grip tighter. Through your connection you mend him. Stitch his body back together cell by cell. The amount of grace passing though burns his mortal skin. Behind you Michael howls divine rage. His vessel, his to save. But you have him in your arms as you flee hell. Clear as a bell, Joshua’s voice rings out in announcement. _Dean Winchester is saved._

You spend over a day in that sunny Tuesday afternoon, recovering, before he summons you. But there is no recognition in his eyes. Perhaps that is for the best.

II.

Lucifer is free. The year trying to save seals gone for naught. Deliberately. You were lied to that whole time yet you did not know. He did. Or he was suspicious. You also had doubts but at least he voiced his. Your brethren desired the apocalypse. You rebelled for him instead, tried to stop it. You died. And you failed anyway. Now you are cast out. Falling. You wait by the road side for his call. One year exactly since you first heard his voice in hell. A nice voice, you note absently. You enjoy listening to him talk. You wonder if he remembers the date. Five weeks since he began talking to Sam again. Does he have time to remember? You wait for his call but it does not come. He must have been distracted. But you appreciate this time waiting. It gives you a rest from your search. This increasingly infuriating, apparently futile search for your runaway father. You wait for the sun to light up the horizon before flying away.

III.

When you thought things could not get any worse. Well, just say you should never assume anything. Lucifer gone. Michael gone. The apocalypse averted. Success? Not so much. Your father has abandoned you. Now you command an army of angels, fighting the other half of heaven. You have a meeting today with Crowley. Your plan. The souls you need. You are sick of this war. You want it over. You are an angel dealing with a demon. What sort of insane world lets this happen? You aren’t sure if you regret that day or not. He was happy, or relatively at least. But now, you just miss him. He would be able to help. He would’ve found another way. Letting him be was useless now anyway, now that he is back. But this is the only way. You remember watching the leaves fall in his yard this time last year. Making sure he was safe, happy. Well, as happy as he could be. For days, weeks, you would come back and watch him. But you always left again. You couldn’t drag him back in now. You wouldn’t. When you saw him with her something twitched in you. Something painful. Your thoughts linger on him often these days. You aren’t sure why, apart from the hole caused by your almost-lost friendship. You wonder when you will see him again. What will you tell him? It is an important day today, but you do not have time to dwell, to remember.

IV.

You don’t know who you are. Or who you were. Just that your name is Emmanuel, the one she gave you. You do not mind the name, though something doesn’t feel right. But she is nice. She found you, saved you, you suppose. You are getting married soon. She had suggested today, but it felt wrong. You don’t know why. Something weighs on your shoulders today, more than usual. Something important you were supposed to remember. You potter around most of the day, few people seem to need you and you are thankful of that for once. She is out for a while, dresses. The niggling remains all day, but you brush it off, as you do most of the times this happens. It passes. She returns and you have dinner and watch the news. That night you dream about a strange man with green eyes in a plaid shirt and feel a twinge of something like recognition and sadness. The next morning you have forgotten it entirely.

V.

The first time, you sit in the dark. Listening to the howling of monsters, screeching of Leviathan. You hear the pounding of your own heart and rattle of your breath. You spent the day running. He almost got close this time. And so did they. So you ran, wings dragging, almost useless in this place, weighed down with grime and fear. The air hung heavy, thick. Seasons have no meaning here, always maddeningly changeable, unreliable. You hear him calling your name, as you always do. And as always, you struggle not to run straight to him. But your primary concern always wins out. Protect him. Keep him safe. As you always have. His mother told him angels were watching over him. Perhaps not plural, but you always watched. It tore you up when you couldn’t help him, but your orders were strict. To observe only. Back then you did not understand emotions, only that it hurt and you had to hide it from your siblings. Forbidden. The spark that made you question. Doubt. You always knew he taught you how to feel. But only when remembering those early years do you realise how long ago he began, though you could not see it. He calls your name again. _Please,_ he says. You curl up tighter against the chill air. _Buddy, where are you? Can you hear me?_ And your resolve cracks a little more because _Yes, I can hear you. Every time, I hear you. I want to go to you. But I can’t, Dean. I can’t. I need to protect you. This is my punishment. I deserve this._ Perhaps it hurts him too, but hearing his voice every night, stuck in this place, knowing he is here too but unable to go to him, this is your sentence and you must serve it.

One year later you are still here. But it is silent. The other monsters have long since faded into the background, but you still strain to hear something. Even though his voice stopped calling your name in the night months ago, after he found you. Even after you shoved him back into the world, you still hope something gets though to this place. But he thinks you are dead, doesn’t he? Why would he pray still? You replay that other day in your head endlessly. The look on his face, the determination. So sure you would go with him. And you pushed him away. It was one of the hardest things you have had to do. But you had to stay. You could not go back yet, if ever. You thought hearing him every night was torture, but it was nothing compared to this silence.

VI.

He came to see you a few weeks ago. It hurt. A physical pain, after the last time you spoke. You were so angry at him. Why did he make you leave, after everything? Yet you were so happy to see him again. And then you were angry for being happy. The turmoil of emotions, a feeling so familiar now, almost always associated with him. You were glad to see him though. To know he was still safe. The silence in your head is deafening. You enjoyed the hunt, short though it was. Spending time with him. You almost didn’t want to go on that not-date. But he told you to live a normal life. Be human. So you try. You stack shelves and make drinks and always, always, your thoughts linger on that other life. You never have been normal, even before, even as an angel. Neither has he. He is human. Why can you not have a life like his? Perhaps he is trying to save you from the pain he feels from missing out on normal. But you know what is out there, what is happening. How can you stand by and do nothing? You will go, you think. You must. Safe and boring is not for you. It wasn’t so safe anyway. But tomorrow. Yes. Today is a special day. You think about him, remember simpler times when all you had to worry for was the apocalypse. How skewed perceptions must become for such a statement to make sense. Yet it is true. You miss those days sometimes. Miss the comforting weight of your wings, grace burning through your veins, fighting side by side with brothers and sisters. With him. Learning humanity from his perspective. Feeling everything about him from a single touch. You miss him. Like a constant ache, you need him. As he needed you, you need him too. And it hurts.

The front bell rings and the mundane returns.

VII.

Today is it. The final day. Your last chance. A good day, you think, for it to happen. The same day these years later, it ends. Millennia of existence, yet more has happened in the past few years than happened to you for the thousands of years before. All because of him. There are no swathes of demons this time. No screeching or fighting or fire. Just him. Sitting solitary in the empty warehouse, fiddling with his blade. He knows you are coming. You can see his new true form roiling on the other plane. Angry as he always is these days. He watches you approach, the flickering of your stolen grace dimming further, cowering. He grins at you, but it’s all wrong. This isn’t Dean, not your Dean. Not the shining soul you raised from perdition. He is all dark. Utterly corrupted. The mark finished the job Alistair started years ago. How do you mend that? How do you fix something with nothing left? You mustn’t let the water fall from your eyes. He can’t see it. But he knows anyway. _Why so sad, angel?_ You cannot pinpoint when you started showing emotions so freely, but you know it started with the man across from you. One terrible tear traces your cheek and a spark, like lightning, flashes in the inky cloud. _What’s the plan, Cas? Cryin’ won’t do much good y’know. You can’t appeal to the better nature of something that doesn’t have one. You wanna fix me? Kill me?_ Any plan you had flies out of your head. You cannot kill him, this man with Dean’s face, Dean’s eyes. Your heart twists painfully and the angel blade in your hand falls, so reminiscent of the last time. He lets you come closer, you don’t care about the blade. Every thing you have ever felt for him comes back to you in that moment, and finally, finally the math makes sense. You know you were lost when you first held him whilst fleeing hell. But you were also found. This man who you gave everything for. Though the revelation comes much too late, at least you understand now. He smirks condescendingly as you raise your hand to his shoulder. That shoulder. You whisper, _I love you._ The awful smile fades. _I love you._ Louder, stronger this time. _Dean, please. I love you. I’m so sorry._

The man chokes up. The lightning flashes again brighter. _Do you remember what day it is, Dean? Do you remember this?_ You squeeze his arm, pour your grace through the old scar. Your memories of him, how beautiful you always saw him. In hell, the barn, in the park, by the lake, motel rooms and hospitals and the impala. That bar. The kitchen table where he insisted you three were always enough. You remember every time, every day, every year like yesterday.

_Please Dean. Remember._

VIII.

You wait in his room. Soon. It should be soon. There. You hear footsteps dragging down the hall. Does he know the day? Does he remember this day one year ago? Five? Ten? You do. With all the clarity of yesterday. He drags his body into the room and slumps against the door to close it. A minute of shuffling and a thump and a grunt of pain later, a lamp flickers on and you see him for the first time. He sags against the edge of the bed. Tired. No, exhausted. Duffel bag carelessly dumped off to the side, no sign of the usual military order which had retaken the space after his first few months back here. Something happened. Something is wrong. Red-rimmed eyes. He was crying. But no alcohol. No, he hasn’t had alcohol in many months. You’ve heard him say it is because they ran out and his brother won’t buy more. But you’ve seen beer bottles in the library. You think it is just because it no longer helps. No longer drowns the guilt, or the pain.

 _I’m so sorry, Buddy…_ Oh. _Cas, I’m so sorry._ Can he see you? Does he know you’re there? _I dunno if you can hear me, or if… if you’re even here, but…_

_I am here, Dean. I can hear you._ But you stay in the shadows. _I’m sorry it took so long for me to figure this out. I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t do this before… when you were…_ He shakes his head and you feel your heart pulling itself apart. He pulls himself up and goes around to the other side of the bed, the empty side. He pulls the ring off his finger, his mother’s, the one you’ve never seen him remove. _This is for you. If… if you were here I guess I’d get down on one knee and all that but…_ He chuckles humourlessly. _Well we both know I’m too late for that._ You stare at the ring while the fissures in your heart split further. He moves away to his side, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, which he rests against the lamp. You see it’s a picture of the two of you, before he sent you away. The only one there is of you. It is all too much. You can’t stay in the shadows. You sit by him and reach out to take his hand. _I miss you buddy. So much. I need you back, Cas. Cos I… I finally realised I love you and—_ Your hand passes straight through but you see the involuntary shiver, which turns into trembling as tears stream down his face. In that moment you learn that ghosts can cry as well. _I love you too, Dean. I love you too._ But there is no way to tell him. Nothing to do but sit there. Stay. Just this one time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr: [ismylifejustfantasy](http://www.ismylifejustfantasy.tumblr.com), come say hi :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV

I.

Your brother is back. He’s back from hell. He is alive and back and what the hell. (Apparently not though. Apparently it’s what the heaven.) Several weeks later you meet _him_. It’s a little weird. He doesn’t like you.

II.

He goes quiet. Very quiet. You think it’s because it’s been a whole year since he got out of hell. You’re both still a little rocky but you're working on it. Maybe not ready to talk though. Not yet. Later, you see him fiddling with his phone. Flipping it open and shut again. Open, shut, open shut. One time his finger even dials the number, but he snaps it shut without pressing the call button.

III.

You're out of the pit. You haven’t seen your brother, or his angel for that matter. It’s almost a year until you do. They are distant from each other when you see them together. You don’t dwell though.

IV.

Leviathan wreak havoc. You're on the run from cops and FBI and monsters, changing cars every other day. But he still carries the coat. You saw him wash it a few weeks ago, scrub the blood out. Today he goes quiet. Very quiet. Long periods of no talking, starting violently when you say anything. There’s a simple salt and burn that night but he isn’t entirely with it. When he thinks you aren’t looking, he touches the coat like a good luck charm, like a reminder.

V.

They’re both gone. You hit a dog. You idly remember the day passing a few weeks later. Five years since he got out and now he’s gone again. The next year, your brother is back. This time though he doesn’t get quiet and introspective. He gets angry, slamming doors and throwing duffel bags with more force than strictly necessary. Dean…? He scowls. _Shut up, Sammy. Just leave it._

VI.

You still feel like crap, honestly. Your brother took off for a few days, said there was a hunt or something. You aren’t sure you believe him though. You saw the phone company GPS website pulled up on his laptop. He mopes today, mostly. Phone in hand constantly. He stares at it contemplatively sometimes, or starts to type in the number, but never calls. You almost yell at him to _just call him already!_ Of course you don’t. He’d clam up and get angry. You remember it happening in the past.

VII.

He told you to wait outside. There was fear in your eyes, but also determination. For once, you listen. He says he can save your brother, then you trust him. You fear for him too. He has become like another brother to you. Screaming and a flash of light. _No!_ Inside is the slumped form of your brother, cradling a limp figure close to his chest. He doesn’t yell or curse or sob. He just shakes in silent grief, all his fight gone. He was saved, but the cost is apparent in the blood staining the floor.

VIII.

He says nothing all day. Not a single word. Once or twice it looks like he wants to, but he just can’t. He fiddles with something in his hand a lot, but you can’t tell what it is. You get home late and he practically stumbles to his room. Keys are thrown on the table. They are never thrown on the table. You give him space. He needs it. When he emerges the next morning, you don’t question the bloodshot eyes or the dark lines under them. You think you know anyway. When he grips his coffee mug you notice his ring – your mum’s ring – is missing. Then he finally speaks up. You're surprised, but only by the fact that he’s admitting it to you. _I loved him, Sammy. I… I do, still. And I remember holding him, I remember him dying. Right there. I try so hard to forget it but I can’t. I just can’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda just had to. I don't know why. But here you go.  
> I'm on [tumblr](http://ismylifejustfantasy.tumblr.com) also. come say hi :)


End file.
